Cooks Overboard

by Joanne Pence

  He cautiously backed up and worked his way past a row of strapless evening gowns. Where had the Hydra disappeared to? Could she have noticed him following her? He didn’t think so, but she was pretty sharp. Could she be watching, ready to pounce? He’d heard how cold-blooded she was.

  At least he had his lethal weapons with him—a stiletto knife up his sleeve, a palm-size pistol in his pocket, a poisoned pin in the lining of his belt, and, most important of all, his hands. He knew tae kwon do, and there were several deadly blows that could take out a man three times his size. That little woman, even smaller than his five feet four inches, would be no problem for him at all.

  He buried himself deep among the satin negligees and, holding his hands out in front of him, assumed the ready position. Of course, everyone knew the story of how the Hydra had once sneaked up on three men while they were guarding diamonds and killed them with her bare hands.

  He wasn’t afraid of her, though. She wouldn’t kill him in this store with all these people as witnesses! Unless, of course, she made it look like an accident…

  If she did kill him, he wondered how long it’d be before anyone realized he was gone. To the other spies at the hotel, he was no more than an afterthought. No one thought much of him, he was sure. His family had disowned him when he decided to work for the government. Now that the government no longer wanted him, they were even more disrespectful.

  He wondered if they’d care when they heard he was dead, killed by some Western female. His ancestors would be most displeased. Of course, he reminded himself, the government wisely preached that he need not worry about ancestors any longer. The state was right. Only what the state thought mattered.

  And sometimes his mother.

  His breathing quickened. Maybe he should forget about the Hydra and just go back to the hotel. He didn’t know exactly why he was following her, anyway. Why not give up on this spy stuff and build himself a new life? Maybe get to know Juanita Cruz better. She was always nice to him at breakfast. This morning she’d even spoken to him.

  Having come to a decision, he felt better. He began to tiptoe backward with great deliberation, concealing his progress under a filmy camouflage of pink nightgowns. His retreat took him directly toward a rack of see-through teddies. Suddenly, he heard the sound of clothes hangers being parted. He felt a breeze hit the back of his neck. Then he heard a voice cry out, “What a surprise!”

  He recognized that voice. Sweat beaded on his furrowed forehead, and his Adam’s apple began working furiously. Slowly, with his head bowed—more because he was afraid to look up than because he was being respectful—he turned. Through blurred vision he saw something purple and chunky on the ground. He blinked and saw that it was a shoe, the toe of a fashionable woman’s shoe. There was a foot in the shoe, and it was attached to a leg. His heart raced; involuntary gulping accompanied the fluttering of his Adam’s apple. He forced himself to raise his eyes past the purple and white striped dress, past the silver necklace, past the pointed chin, full lips, small nose…

  Big brown eyes, large and devouring, stared directly at him. He was looking at the Hydra!

  The little man’s scream rang out through the store, causing everyone nearby to turn and stare.

  Rubbing her ringing ears, Angie saw the man’s eyes turn into huge circles. His hands began to chop the air wildly, and strange “hup, hup” sounds came from his throat.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed so fast that his bow tie unraveled. Backpedaling furiously, he seemed unaware of the danger he was heading toward. “Stop!” she cried.

  But that only seemed to make his legs move even faster. Back he went, arms hacking, feet bounding higher with each step, until, to Angie’s complete amazement, he backed into a display of bikini panties. Reaching out to the top of the rack to catch himself, he pulled the whole thing down with him. Panties and rack landed in a heap on the man, who lay smothered in lace and nylon, peering out through the leg hole of a little French-cut number adorned with ribbons and rosettes.

  As a flock of salesclerks tried to free him, Angie quietly made her way to the door, then ran across the street to find Paavo.

  They were drinking coffee at an outdoor café when they saw an ambulance pull up in front of the dress shop. Angie had told Paavo about her strange encounter with Shawn MacDougall, and he’d told her the information he’d received from Yoshiwara. Minutes later, paramedics emerged pushing Shawn MacDougall in a wheelchair. But when they reached the truck, he suddenly jumped up and, with a pronounced limp, ran down the street.

  The paramedics shrugged, got back into the ambulance, and drove away.

  “Why was he following me?” Angie wondered aloud.

  “We’ll find out what Livingstone knows when we see him tonight. He said he’ll check on MacDougall and the others,” Paavo reminded her. “We need to find out if they’re dangerous or not.” He glanced at Angie and chuckled. “Although from what you tell me about MacDougall, it sounds like he was a lot more afraid of you than you were of him.”

  Angie began to giggle, and she held the napkin to her lips. “You should have seen him with those frilly panties draped over his ear,” she said, gasping for air as the giggles became a full-fledged laugh.

  Paavo joined her.

  30

  The colonel put down the telephone receiver. “She found it. She says she will have it here tonight.”

  “Do you believe her?” Eduardo asked, looking up from the Times of London. They were seated in Ortega’s game room.

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “It seems to me she’s stalling. What if she has found out just how valuable the formula is and is trying to find someone else to sell it to?”

  “She wouldn’t dare!” Ortega bellowed.

  “You did, my colonel,” Eduardo replied.

  Ortega’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  “You were going to give the formula to the consortium, but instead you decided to sell it to the highest bidder on your own,” he stated logically.

  “But it will be mine to sell,” Ortega yelled.

  “Paid for with the consortium’s money,” Eduardo pointed out.

  “You object, amigo?” The colonel’s words were menacing.

  “Of course not,” Eduardo replied. “They owe you that money—and more.”

  “That is how I feel,” Ortega agreed.

  “As soon as she shows up with the formula,” Eduardo said, “it is yours to do with as you wish. If she shows up with it.”

  “She has no choice.” Ortega rubbed his chin. “But perhaps you are right, and we should not wait. I will demand she give it to me immediately.”

  “And if she does not?”

  Ortega’s eyes were hard. “No one refuses me.”

  31

  By ten o’clock, Paavo was worried. Livingstone was an hour late. That meant trouble. Livingstone had struck him as a man who didn’t miss appointments unless something was seriously wrong.

  After the dress shop incident, Paavo and Angie had gone to a restaurant called Tres Islas for a meal of parrillada de mariscos, a mixed seafood grill featuring shrimp, oyster, crab, and swordfish. They’d returned to the hotel a little before nine.

  Paavo had knocked on the door to Livingstone’s room a couple of times but received no answer. Their own room had been searched, and Angie’s tote bag was missing. Paavo wasn’t sure what to make of it. Had Livingstone caught the intruder? He should have, but without Livingstone’s okay, Paavo didn’t want to assume anything was safe.

  The hotel owner hadn’t heard from or seen Livingstone all day.

  While Paavo waited in the lobby, Angie decided to check out the courtyard of the hotel. She walked down the noisy tiled hallway and was almost at the French doors when she heard footsteps behind her. George Gresham was heading her way. She didn’t want to talk to him and hurried on a little way, then ducked into an open door. She found herself in a corridor that led to the hotel’s laundry and small kitchen facilities. She ste
pped into the shadows where she couldn’t readily be seen. Voices came from the kitchen. Moving farther along the wall, she slipped into a recessed area near the pantry door and watched.

  “My big mamacita,” Shawn MacDougall said, throwing his arms as far as he could around the waist of the woman who had served orange juice that morning.

  “My little China doll,” Juanita responded, bending over and crushing the seated Shawn to her ample breasts. “I’m so sorry you were hurt today.”

  “But I am so glad it brought me to you,” he said, his voice muffled. She patted his leg, which was propped up on another chair, cushioned with a pillow.

  Since the two had eyes only for each other, Angie figured she’d quietly leave as soon as she thought George Gresham was out of the way. But no such luck.

  “So here you are, MacDougall,” Gresham bellowed as he marched down the corridor to the kitchen, right past Angie, who was still lurking against the wall by the pantry. “Have you seen the Hydra?” he asked. “I thought I saw her headed out to the courtyard, but she wasn’t there.”

  The Hydra? Angie thought. That was the woman Livingstone had mentioned. Was she here, too? Could Grundil be the Hydra? She looked the way a Hydra might look. But she’d seen Grundil going up to her room about a half hour ago.

  On the other hand, George might have caught a glimpse of her, she thought, when she was in the hallway. But he couldn’t possibly think she…No, he couldn’t think that.

  MacDougall pried himself free from Juanita. “I didn’t see her. I was just having a cup of tea.”

  Gresham eyed the woman. “Ri-i-i-i-ght.”

  “Señora Cruz and I have been talking,” MacDougall said. “She is recently widowed, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Not so recent,” Juanita said, beaming at Shawn. “But you’re sweet, Señor MacDougall.” She glanced at Gresham. “He’s so thoughtful.”

  “Thoughtful or not, he’s got work to do,” Gresham said sternly. “We’ve got a Hydra to catch. Let’s go, MacDougall. You’re a part of this team.”

  George strode out of the kitchen, MacDougall limping behind him, and Juanita bustling after them both, chastising George for making her poor, sick, sweet querido go with him.

  Angie waited until the coast was clear, then went in search of Paavo. Now she had even more to tell him about the mysterious Hydra.

  The result was not what she’d planned.

  “You’re going to the airport,” Paavo announced with a glint in his eyes that she was all too familiar with.

  “You mean we’re going to the airport,” Angie said firmly. Did he really think he could send her to Acapulco without him?

  “I’ll fly out later, after I pack up our belongings. But first I want you out of Mazatlán as soon as possible, and I don’t want you anywhere near our luggage.”

  “Now wait a minute—”

  “It’ll be safer if I don’t have to worry about you, okay?”

  She’d heard that argument before. One time too many, in fact. She was tired of his wanting to scuttle her off to somewhere safe while he put himself in danger. “And just what am I supposed to do? Go sightseeing in Acapulco without you?”

  “We don’t know what’s happened to Livingstone. I think he’d have called if everything was settled. I don’t like it—especially if people are thinking you’re this Hydra creature. So Acapulco is out. I want you back in San Francisco.”

  That was too much. “Now, wait—”

  “Angie, it’s not safe.” His jaw was stubborn. She knew that look. “I listened to Livingstone against my better judgment. What he said made sense at the time, but now I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling things might have turned ugly.”

  “You don’t know that for sure!” she argued.

  “Let’s go, right now,” he said.

  “Without you? No.”

  “No? You’ve got to.”

  “No! You said the other day to Livingstone that I shouldn’t be endangered because I’m a civilian. Well, let me remind you that in a couple of weeks you’ll be a civilian, too. And right now you’re on vacation.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” he said.

  “It has everything to do with it. This isn’t your responsibility. You’ve decided to give that up, remember?”

  He frowned. “Angie—”

  “You’re right, too, not to worry about finding another job,” she quickly added. “You’ll find one easily. In fact, I’m sure my father can get you a great one in his shoe business. Not sales—something better. Maybe in bookkeeping. You’ll easily double your salary. Won’t it be great?”

  “I know what you’re doing, Angie. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

  “You see it as a bad joke, don’t you? Doesn’t that tell you something about yourself, Inspector Smith? About who you are and what you are?”

  He shut his eyes a moment. “I just don’t know.”

  “If you truly wanted to quit the force, you’d fly out of here with me, right now. Think about it.”

  “Hell,” he said, then took her arm and rushed her through the lobby to the street.

  She had to practically run to keep up with his long-legged stride. He kept a tight grip on her, frowning mightily.

  “Are you leaving with me?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Forget it.”

  “At least tell me why you’re being so secretive,” she asked between panted breaths.

  He stopped a moment and looked at her. “Do you honestly think Livingstone would leave us waiting here if he were able to reach us and tell us what’s going on?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Something’s happened to him. And if it’s happened to him, it could happen to us. I want you out of here. I’ll be right behind you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  “You will?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  That took her aback. He truly must be worried. “We definitely need to go back to San Francisco, then?”

  “What choice do we have?” he asked. “We don’t know enough about what’s going on, except that it’s international and it’s big. We’ll contact Interpol once we’re home.”

  She glanced up at his intense blue eyes and watched them surveying doorways, parked cars, and the few vehicles that drove past them as they hurried through the dark, quiet streets. She had to admit he was right. As the evening had dragged on, and especially after listening to George’s strange words in the kitchen, she’d grown increasingly uneasy.

  The Hydra, she thought. First on the ship, then here in Mazatlán. Who in the world was she?

  “If there are no direct flights back to San Francisco soon, get on one to Los Angeles,” Paavo said. He pushed her into a doorway and stood in front of her, peering up and down both sides of the street to see if anyone was following them. “I don’t want you sitting around the airport any longer than absolutely necessary. I don’t know what these people want with you, or why, and I don’t want you to find out.”

  “I thought you said you were coming with me,” she said.

  “I will, quite soon. But don’t hang around the airport waiting for me. Take the first flight out, and I’ll follow. To be certain there’s no danger, don’t even go to your apartment. Go to your parents’ place. I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

  “I don’t get it. We can leave together. I’ll go ahead and buy tickets for both of us.”

  “I don’t want our stuff left behind.”

  She grabbed his shirtsleeve, wanting to shake sense into him. “Our stuff isn’t important.” She couldn’t believe he’d stay behind just to pack. “Anyway, we can have the hotel ship it later, once we’re home and safe.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, lightly stroking them. “It’s important to me,” he said softly.

  She knew he wasn’t telling her everything. She could have said that their belongings weren’t that valuable—nothing compared to the chance of his being hurt. B
ut he knew that. He wanted her out of the way, and away from him for now. He had promised to be right behind her. She had to hold on to that.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “But don’t dawdle. I expect you to be no more than an hour behind me.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said, pulling her against his chest.

  “I don’t like this, Paavo.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  “Come on,” he said, gently releasing himself from her embrace. “Let’s find a cab to take you to the airport.”

  They hurried down another couple of side streets, then to a main boulevard, where they hailed a taxi.

  Paavo gave the cab driver orders to take Angie to the airport, then waited, hoping that he wouldn’t see anyone following her cab. He didn’t. She was safely on her way.

  He headed back to the hotel.

  Angie walked through the quiet terminal, searching for the next flight to San Francisco or Los Angeles. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks.

  Paavo was going to look for Livingstone.

  That was why he wanted her out of the way. He had said he was afraid something had happened to the man and that they might be next. But he wasn’t about to remove himself from harm’s way. He would try to find Livingstone first. To get him out of whatever danger he was in, if at all possible.

  And to do it meant that he himself would be in danger.

  The new Paavo—the one who insisted he was going to quit the force and act like any other civilian—wouldn’t be going after Livingstone.

  The old Paavo was back. At least as far as trying to help a fellow officer. But as much as she was glad he was back, she hated the danger he might be placing himself in.

  She turned around and headed back toward the airport entrance, back toward the taxis returning to Mazatlán.

  Should she go to the police? With what story? What evidence? The police in San Francisco wouldn’t do anything in a situation like this—they’d tell her to file a missing-person report unless there was some real evidence that someone had been harmed. Even if there was such evidence, a missing person wasn’t necessarily tops on their priority list, especially when the supposedly missing one was a secret agent with Interpol and the name they had for him probably wasn’t legitimate. They wouldn’t know how or where to begin. Or even if they should.